Happiness is obsolete: uneconomic.

People at the top are closing ranks so tightly that all possibility of subjective deviation has gone, and difference can be sought only in the more distinguished cut of an evening dress.

There is no love that is not an echo.

Auschwitz begins wherever someone looks at a slaughterhouse and thinks: they’re only animals.

Death is imposed only on creatures, not their creations, and has therefore always appeared in art in a broken form: as allegory.

Estrangement shows itself precisely in the elimination of distance between people.

The task of art today is to bring chaos into order.